The Prince and The Outlander
by Ralph the Fanboy
Summary: A newly knighted prince meets a strange girl from lands unknown and teaches him of true knighthood and of love.


**Hi everyone! Yeah about Aerys the Great chapter 3, I'm half way done with the fourth rewrite and hopefully I'll get it done soon.**

 **In the meantime here's another one of my one-shots/hopefully ongoing stories I found in my old flash drive. It's inspired by tainted-angel21's fic called His Secret Wisdom with my on twist. I wrote it before A Tale of Conquest and basically a fanfic to a fanfic.**

 **I based the OC on the Aussie model Amelia Zadro.**

 **Hope you all like it.**

It was two hundred and eighty-one years after Aegon first of his name conquered six of the Seven Kingdoms with his sister-wives and their dragons, thus establishing a dynasty that ruled over a continent for nearly three centuries.

And the Red Keep is one of many imposing symbols for the Royal Family.

Light from the midday sun shone through the stained glass windows in it's Throne Room. They depict; The Conqueror enthroned with his sisters by his side, The Concilator with quill and parchment in hand while bathed in the sevens light, and finally The Young Dragon atop a mighty steed leading an army through the sands of Dorne.

That light gave the Iron Throne, a symbol of Targaryen kingship and dominance over the Seven Kingdoms, an eerie otherworldly glow.

A ten foot tall iron monstrosity of a seat, made from the defeateds swords. There sat Aerys Targaryen; Second of his name, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhyonar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

He sneered at what was infront of him; his son and once, his heir.

Rhaegar Targaryen; who's being held down, kneeling and bent over, clad in rusty chains, his fine silk doublet torn revealing wounds and bruises in his now thinning frame, his hair once long and lush, now cut short hastily by a dagger.

A grim faced, armored man stood towering next to him with sword hand gripping the pommel of his sword.

The whole room was eerily quiet. Courtiers were present, normally a gossiping lot, but now a solemn silence hangs over them. The reason was, their prince was guilty of conspiring a crime most foul towards his own father.

A plot to unseat him and install himself as king.

King Aerys, other than the fine clothes and intricate crown upon his head, looked nothing like like his station expects but that of an insane hedge wizard; hair long and unkept, his nails looked equally horrendous, scabs and open wounds covered his arms from the very throne he sat.

Two Kingsguard stood at the Iron Thrones massive base their other brothers either missing or attending other duties; Lord Commander Gerold Hightower in the right and Ser Jonothor Darry to the left. Both stoicly observing the prince they saw grow to manhood and protected with their lives.

"Guardsman!" Aerys said "Bring my ungrateful excuse of a son closer!"

With a forceful yank from the chains by the grim faced man, Rhaegar was in his feet albeit unsteady, he slowly made his way forward. The guard pushed him for haste and he fell down once again.

The sight of his would be userper, so weak and pathetic made the old king smile. "So this is what has become of the one who would dethrone me?"

None answered as Rhaegar struggled to get upright, Ser Jonothor was almost willing to give aid until silently being told off by his Lord Commander with a single cold stare.

Still the courtiers were silent as many feared for their lives. Though there were some supporters, all they could do was smolder with anger as their prince was paraded and mocked in court, as many of the more influential ones left there was still a score left.

"You planned to depose me! ME! YOUR OWN FATHER!? Is your thirst for power so great that you have no patience until I'm dead?!" Aerys said decending from his seat slowly, savoring his sons struggle.

"Look around you, son. What little support you've garnerd, means nothing!" He pionted to the Lords and ladies in court. "They won't even lift a finger for you! Do you know why, Rhaegar? Because they FEAR ME! THEY FEAR THE DRAGON!"

The king ranted more about his power as he decended from his throne. Upon reaching its base, the two Kingsguard joined Aerys in his approach silently; their swords ready should the prince plan to do harm.

"You were once a disappointment, reading your books, playing that gods dammed harp! But you changed didn't you?" Aerys asked full of meloncholy "Participating in tourneys and showing your potential as scion of Old Valyria! Making our houses great name even greater! Who could ever have guessed you'd turn against your kin?!"

Still Rhaegar said nothing, his dark indigo eyes coldly staring upon his father's.

"What has happened that changed you so? Reading those books? Or was it envy towards me?... Merely lusting for power?" Still Rhaegar said nothing.

Now standing over his son, the king became even more incesed by the stoic silence.

Finally losing his temper, King Aerys grabbed his sons tattered doublet by the collar and held him face to face. "Speak! Gods damn you! Speak!"

Still he said nothing.

Rhaegar was dropped violently to the stone floor causing him to fall to his knees.

"Or...was it that bitch you found in the Stormlands?" Aerys finally said through his teeth.

At that remark, Rhaegar tensed his body and grit his teeth, hoping his father didn't notice.

But notice he did and with a cruel laugh the king claimed victory. "It was her wasn't she? Whispering traitorous lies as she offered her polluted cunt to you!"

Rhaegars breathing grew rapid as he balled his fists until the knucles turned white. Eyes, tranquil a moment ago now had malevolent light to them staring daggers at the man he once looked up to.

"Mayhaps that Connington is fucking that whore at this very moment, along with Lonmouth and Mooton taking turns."

All façade of calm disappeared from the silver-haired prince, replaced with a look of pure hatred directed at the one insulting his friends and that girl.

"She is most likely carrying your bastard and desires to be nothing less than queen! Because how else could such an uncouth wildling be permitted at your side?"

In an instant, the prince was to his feet running towards the king with blind fury yelling incoherent curses, only to be thwarted by a chain caught by the still suprised guardsman. Stopping only inches from Aerys and the Kingsguard waiting to cut him down, Rhaegar was yanked back to his position albeit quite a bit louder.

Caught off guard by such an agressive action towards him, Aerys smile grew nonetheless. "The truth is not to your liking then, son?"

"Your spouting nothing but lies! And I swear by the Old God's and the New, I will tear you down! You sorry excuse of a king!" Rhaegar yelled.

"And with that remark, you earned your friends a slow death by my dragonfire." He said Gesturing the guard to take him away.

With a quick puch to the gut, all resistance the prince had disappeared.

A look of worry was in every courtier face, as their savior from the madness was being led away in chains. Yet even as he was dragged back to the black cells, Rhaegar had an air of defiance about him; assuring his most feverent supporters he wasn't broken yet, far from it. But with the; beatings, hunger, and the general conditions of his imprisonment, conciousness was leaving him.

That in turn, gave way to memories of the strange girl with mousy brown hair from a faraway place called California.

"Sarah Johnson" he muttered before his vision turned black.

* * *

Sarah Anne Johnson is a L.A girl to the core and she hated cold, wet, and rainy weather and tended to avoid going anywhere remotely like that in all her sixteen years of existence.

But her mom's family reunion slash Great-Grandfathers 100th birthday in jolly old Britain was one event she actually wanted to go. Isabel Johnsons home town of Hay-on-Wye, Wales was one of the very few exceptions to Sarahs rule of avoiding places with non South Californian-like climates.

As a girl, she loved touring the old Castles (that may be the reason for the unhealthy obsession with all things Medival at that age) and seeing her kinda crazy but super fun archeologist uncle again, that would be a breath of fresh air after all the drama in last couple of months.

Almost immediately both uncle and niece, drove almost immediately to a nearby historical site when she was nine or ten visited; Arthur's Stone.

Sitting in the front seat of her Uncle Nigels beat up sedan, Sarah watched the English countryside fly past through the characteristically sudden summer storm that cut short her trip to nostalgia. The cramped, early 2000's Toyota though was nostalgic enough.

The lemon of a car filled with books, a highly detailed map of Wales for some reason, papers with weird writing on it, plastic bags filled with things that clanks metallically, and a full suit of chainmal armor with matching helmet and weapons placed, strangely enough, on female maniquin.

She had sardonic smile watching her uncle's stuff bounce around. "Still a pack rat I see."

"Yes, but all of that has purpose!" her Uncle said in the stereotypical dignified English professor accent with a slight hint of Welsh, which contrasted with the worn-out sweaters and khakis he wore.

"You have chainmal on a lady maniquin back there."

"I couldn't find a male one and It's all for my novel! A historical epic set on the Norman invasion of England, and a hero from our time hell bent on changing history!"

"So, it's like that other novel with the guy going back to medival Poland?"

"No, no, no, nothing like that!" Nigel said "As much as I admire Leo Frankowskis work it lacks a bit of humanity"

Their conversation eventually petered down to an awkward silence.

Sarah thought for a moment thinking of something of breaking the ice. "The roads a better"

"That they are."

Then there was another awkward silence.

"So, Arthur's Stone! Brings back memories eh, Sarah?" He finally said.

Sarah hesitated, what could she say? That it looked bigger when she was a kid, his encyclopedic knowledge of it was both boring and disturbing, his beard's longer. Or just admit she grew out of that Medival era loving phase.

Nigel just snorted. "Yeah, me talking up a storm about pre-roman Britain after six years, that caught us up properly"

Sarah smiled at her uncle's sense of humor, she'd met alot of people with dry wit but there was a certain something that just made it funnier to her.

Maybe it was the accent.

Nigel Wentworth sighed and looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "Seems like it was yesterday that you wore a bucket for a helmet and rode on a broom, saying you wanted to be in King Arthur's Round Table as the first girl knight, now look at you; sixteen years old and looking so much like your mother" He put one hand to the growing bald spot in the back of his head. "Makes me feel so old!"

"Dont be like that Uncle Nigel, you'll find Mrs Wentworth soon enough"

"That'll never happen, besides, Dick and Izzy already made sure clan Wentworrrthhh survies" He said that last part in a bad Scottish accent.

Sarah burst out laughing, it was an inside joke she remembered when they both watched Braveheart (not something she'd recommend to six year olds though)

As their conversation droned on, strange crackling sounds coming from outside. But at the time the two didn't notice until Sparks suddenly appeared outside as a glow eminated from the back seat, and the crackling became a loud roar.

Nigel looked terrified. "Oh God, it's not supposed to happen, not now!"

"What's not supposed to happen? What isn't real?!" She said worried.

Her usually calm and witty uncle's loosing his shit. Her question was unanswered as a blinding light envelopes the car with lightning flashing all around and all that was left is a smouldering burnt patch in the road, it happened in less than a second.

A search party was sent for the two and after an exhausting week neither hide nor hair was found. Eventually both Dyfed-Powys and West Mercia Police were called and still not a trace could be found.

They all ignored the burnt road.


End file.
